


To Lessen His Ridges

by enigmaticallygodless



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, ambiguous gift giving, gatsby's a bottom and nick and jordan are the only two tops in the world in this essay I will-, it's hard going from sad to horny, jay and jordan are best friends, the 20s were like that huh, yeah. i know.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17395007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticallygodless/pseuds/enigmaticallygodless
Summary: Alone or loneliness accompanies Gatsby during the season where cold creeps upon the thickets of the garden.





	To Lessen His Ridges

Prior to the snowfall in West Egg, Gatsby held a generous party before the holidays possessed the calendar. He couldn’t seem to hold onto complete memories, except being secluded and welcomed into Nick’s embrace with a very small audience who wanted to say farewell after the long night: of Jordan, her few lady accompanies and a man who caught Gatsby’s eye for a moment during the party, before he succumbed to the many glasses of whatever Jordan would hand him, to ‘lessen his ridges.’ She kept telling him he was too tense, with his shoulders squared, and hands as fists in his pockets. 

“He will show up,” she hissed in his ear on the balcony. As they stared across the brighter stars, closer to Earth, along his property, “if you were so inclined to see your daddy, you would have walked across that little lawn and let yourself in. He’d be so delighted,” Jordan droned on, and pulled champagne from a server’s platter, “here, at least keep your hand around this before it cramps from all your tension.”

Gatsby gave her a look and took the drink, and another, then he still remains far from the people, seated with Jordan’s laughter and his own.

Until somberness settled in again, “do you think Nick went to visit family without telling me?”

Jordan rolled her eyes, the cigarette she held looks dainty in her hands, “no-”

“What did you call him before?” Gatsby reclined his head back, “my daddy?”

“He is your boyfriend isn’t he? You’ve called him this yourself,” Jordan said after a draw from the cigarette.

“You have… A marvelous memory,” Gatsby mumbled, “are you kind enough to remind me?”

“I’m not,” she smiled, “but I will spare you the embarrassment about what you tell me in secret about Nick.”

Gatsby sat up with his eyes narrowed at Jordan, “you forget I’m the one who heard you speak everything of Mrs-”

“And you’re drunk enough to remember this?”

After laughter and more teasing, Jordan had left, then came back, then Nick was there with a full lap of Gatsby, who toyed with the ends of his hair and brushed his lips dangerously close to his ear. After all evidence of the gathering had been cleared, a day after, Nick visited Jay briefly before his traveling. 

Their farewell lasted a few cupidinous kisses too long. Gatsby didn’t detect any odd behaviors from Nick before he went on for his short departure. It was safe to surmise he was perfection that night.

In leisure time, the parties went dormant as icy roads were useless for those devoted commutters, and it was time of solitude, to be around the fireplace for Jay Gatsby.

Gatsby drank without Jordan’s aid, and read books, and called for no one to store them back into the shelves of the library. He kept them as growing collections around him. And was becoming obviously deterred by an absence to wallow in himself. Gatsby’s pile of books only came to be a criminally picturesque loneliness. On Christmas day, it only seemed more so, when nothing but a whistle of wind snuck through his doors. 

A fireplace that burned for three days kept him warm, and finally, two days after beloved Christmas, Gatsby was finally no longer apathetically admiring the snow covered garden. 

Now at the same fireplace, strangely with company, otherwise from his butlers, Jordan and Nick accompanied him with bright conversation and laughter. With no tree, Jordan had directly handed Gatsby a pristinely wrapped parcel that left him wordless.

“Thank you,” he utters softly.

“Nick was kind enough to wrap it for me. I’m guessing with the efforts he put into it, he can take credit,” Jordan grins, and Nick snorts. 

Nick looks to Gatsby, with eyes that missed him since the first spell of snow. Over the week, guilt transpired in him during the dull family dinners, when all he could wonder about was Jay: if he were alone or lonely. Now, Nick looks at him and his tender stare, at the personalized handwritten name on the gifts. Nick’s sharp scrawl _Merry Christmas, Jay_ and Jordan’s lowercase flow both spelled his name, tugged at his heart. Jordan had bought him what she sneakily drew out from his wishful mind, when he was drunk months ago. He silently curses her, for using his rare disadvantage of not keeping his mouth shut as a device, but it still warms his heart that she kept it stored for a lifetime.

Gatsby looks up with a smile, “thank you,” he laughs.

“You’re welcome,” she smiles and continues to gestures out to Nick, “what’d your daddy get you?”

“What?” “Jordan —” they said in unison.

“I was with- I’m going to give- I’m going to… Fill the decanter,” Nick decided, taking the glass, next to the many other full decanters, up and over to the kitchen, leaving Jordan and her — doggedly — best friend to stare at each other. One elated, and the other staggered. 

Raising the light rouse, Jordan lifts her eyebrow in her smirk, “what did I say?” she was either playing complete innocence in her cacophony, or in total joy in making Jay Gatsby gutted, and Jay narrowed his eyes in his suspicion. 

“In what place would you hear that daddy means boyfriend?” even the word stuck to his throat as an uproarious arousal he once had to choke down before.

“Were you never there?” she sighs, “you know men like it.”

“Me?” 

Unimpressively, she deadpans, “you don’t even make half a decent liar.”

Jay laughs in his retort, “but what do you know about men?” he asks in a light tease.

“That they talk so loud at your parties!” she exclaimed but laughs with him, “you’re always too sober in Nick’s looks to hear them, and always too drunk in my company to recall on what you agree with.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but deflates and impassively picks up his nearly empty glass, and finishes the liquor that ends up polishing his lips with a shine. Nick comes back into the room after he hears their distant conversation quiet, and Gatsby smiles at his innocent return.

Ready with a lie, Gatsby begins, “Jordan was just telling me-”

“That I have a chauffeur waiting for me. See you on New Years Eve,” Jordan waves her elegant fingers at them as she leaves, and the moment the sound of her heels clicking diminished completely, Gatsby begins to hold his breath.

Nick places the decanter down, and pulls Gatsby from his hand up from the couch, “are you drunk?” he chuckles.

“No, old sport, I’m brotherly vindictive about Jordan, she-” Gatsby shakes his head as his cheeks blush, “never mind her.”

“Well then,” Nick chuckles, “she didn’t give me a chance to get your gift from my house so-”

“No stay, please,” Gatsby holds both of his arms, “please, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Kissing the line of his cheek, “of course,” he murmurs.

They take to the halls aimlessly, the grandiosity of the place allows them to talk with no worry about destination. Nick goes on about family, boredly droning about the dinners and presents, some comedical and embarrassing, but Gatsby felt as if he could live through his words. He’s imagining it, the lights of a family home and all the traditions — they both stop walking at the sudden sound of a question.

“What about you, Jay?” Nick asks gently, about being alone, or the loneliness. 

Gatsby knows how to answer truthfully, but he still impassively shrugs, “I caught up on reading.”

“I wish I could be here,” Nick tells him with all honesty in his eyes, and Gatsby kisses him.

“And now you are. And I wondered what you’re going to do.”

Nick smiles at that, and brings his lips to his, “what am I going to do? You’ve been thinking about me?” he drops down to his neck, where he places a kiss.

It would be wrong to call themselves anything but lovesick as Nick takes to Gatsby’s neck in the middle of the hallway. His impatience was showing through and Gatsby made sure he knew.

“Darling,” Gatsby says, in a catch of breath when Nick leaves a mark, “where are we going?”

Nick looks over his shoulder and laughs, unaware out of all this time, he’s been pulling Gatsby along his own corridors.

“Here,” he says decisively.

The doors of the library give way, when Nick backs up into them. He takes a quick interest in all the novels, forever awed by all their gilded pages and old spines. 

It doesn’t take much time to situate Gatsby, once he’s returned his awe to him. Nick’s polite in clearing his study, and draws Gatsby over by pulling him in by his shirt, and pushing him up onto his desk. Nick kisses him until he’s breathless and whining, and eventually pulling for one of his hands between his legs, and presses down against his hardness.

“That was quick,” Nick marvels, smiling as he presses the heel of his hand into him.

“We-“ he caught breath on his sentence, “-we did have kissing, to get us started.”

“You never need much,” Nick smiles at him, and dexterously unfastens Gatsby’s pants, dragging them down and off, along with his underwear with the help of him.

“Planned on going somewhere tonight?” Nick asks, before smoothing his hands over and up his thighs, framing his hips, then letting his hands slide under his sweater, holding against his ribs.

“No,” Gatsby admits, as tremors surface against the touch of Nick, and Gatsby’s breath sighs as a gust of risen excitement, “all for you, Mr. Carraway.”

There’s a pause between them, and Gatsby feels his cheeks brighten in heat at Nick’s light laugh, “you’re speaking out of your mind already? You usually hold your tongue.”

“No,” Gatsby allows him to ruck his sweater up further, “I don’t think you do, either.”

“No?”

“... No,” he whispers, and smiles mannerly.

“Is this an invitation to show you?”

“Yes.”

Nick laughs at that, nosing into the crook of his neck, where he kisses the junction of his shoulder. He takes the skin and laves at him, still holding Gatsby by his expanding ribs. Nicks stays quiet for the moment, his hands moving up till they barely feather against his chest.

Gatsby tries to hold a pathetic plead of a gasp, but Nick still hears, and kisses a gentle moan out of him.

Of course — Shiningly so, Jay Gatsby has been honed by the sharp points of hardship. Caught beneath Nick, haloed in golden thorns: used to prick and snag by the attention their glimmer draws. Yet, a harking angel is the easiest thing to mold, just with a writer’s amble hands, and Nick watches the form of him.

“You’re so easy,” Nick tells him, and watches the dazed blue eyes stare back and Nick’s core is stirred, ignited in an ache. 

Gatsby keeps his palms on the desk, keeping upright to kiss him desperately, and falls to his back by the solid push Nick gives him. He’s looked down upon with an intent gaze, and he tries not to sound like a harlot by the simple brush of Nick’s light hands coming down to hold him by the waist.

“Hm,” Nick hums in decision to himself, leaning his head down to kiss against Gatsby’s hip, “what do you want?” his breath ghosts over Gatsby’s skin. He’s unsure what the game was currently, if Nick was giving or asking if Jay knew what he was going to take.

“Maybe you should just show me,” Gatsby offers, holding his breath at the sudden, featherlight kisses, on the inside of his thighs.

“Maybe I was wrong about you being easy,” he teases, before taking Gatsby’s cock in the slightest hold, and stroked his hand upwards, drawing out a moan.

“Oh,” Nick smiles, elated, “I’m right.”

Before another word, he dips his head down and takes the head of his cock between his lips. He continues taking him in, in all calculated movements, elegant in their own way. Nick keeps his hands planted down onto his hips, grounding him in the leaden pressure. He takes from him, until his attempts at bucking up into the heat of him grows in effort.

Nick pulls away, digging his nails into his skin when he pushes Gatsby’s leg back, he drags his tongue over his hole, and continues from the moans, out and loud in the library of words that listen. He gets him wet, and a mess, till his hands are grasping the edge of the desk with white knuckles.

He pulls away, standing up as he undoes his trousers with a hand, and reaches for Gatsby’s cock, again.

“You’re always dripping everywhere. You’re making a mess,” Nick strokes the head on his cock with his thumb, and draws his hand down to spread his precome, “you’re the most eager boy I’ve ever had, Jay.”

“Nick,” he nearly whines, wordless with a vicious falter. Nick can see through him.

“Come on,” Nick beckons, and Gatsby holds his breath. Gatsby waits for any other order that doesn’t call for what lies behind his lips, and Nick waits for the exact thing.

Until he taps Gatsby’s hip, “come on. Turn over for me.”

He smoothly obliges, despite his usual intoxicated carelessness by excitement. Nick pushes his sweater up again, balling the softness into his left fist. He presses his right thumb into the dimple of Gatsby’s back, slotting his dick between his ass and grinds down into the slickness already there. He guides the head in, slowly and with ease. Nick presses in until the crown catches the rim, then pulls away, smiling at Gatsby’s groan of frustration.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Nick kisses his back, and watches as Gatsby blindly opens a drawer for him, and he seeks out lube from there. As Nick covers his fingers, he hears a mumble from below.

“Hm?”

Gatsby turns to look at him, over his shoulder, with florid cheeks and wrecked hair. They’ve barely started. His mouth opens to say something, but he gives up on the mere thought, when he feels Nick push a digit in.

When he stretches in another, beginning to scissor him open, he hears Gatsby above breath, nearly a whisper. Nick’s core aches, but satisfaction was still by bay. He fucks his fingers in and out of him, considering a third, by the muted grunts. He pushes another in, and feels him throb at the verge, hearing half of a keen whine.

Nick stops every movement, resting his hand on his flank, “come on, Jay.”

He shakes his head, his moan wavering when Nick curled his fingers inside of him. He keeps urging against the spot that sends him into desperate cut off moans and tension, stripped from all his words. And before Nick could finish the pursuit, he slowly withdraws his fingers, and leaves Gatsby as a high strung sight. He finally repositions the head, teasing around his hole.

Nick pushes in with one full thrust, joining in with the broken moan. He links their hands together, and leans down till his lips kiss his ear, “I said, come on, Jay,” he asks for him, rocking his hips, “come on,” he groans.

“Fuck- _Daddy_ ,” Gatsby moans with his eyes shut and brows furrowed,“daddy, god daddy fuck me,” he gasps again in all that he’s been holding back. He’s then stilled with petrification for a fleetful moment, when Nick loosens their hands and smooths his down to Gatsby’s waist. They threaten to bruise.

Nick drops his head against his shoulder with a groan, “you are impossible, Jay.” 

Their breath catches together as Nick starts to fuck him with no build up. Only in an earnest passion in ruining him hoarse.

Gatsby doesn’t stop, he comes back to his mouthful of mindlessness. He tries to find purchase on the desk, and moans louder at the sudden hand coming up to hold him down, by the base of his neck. It was never long until the hand ended up in his hair, pulling at its length.

Nick presses deeper into him, moaning at the throb around him, “come on, baby.”

“Nick-” He feels a sharp tug on his hair, and reaches back to grab at his hip to have a sense of control, even when he entirely knows the whims of it are far more rewarding, “-Daddy, oh god.”

“Is this why you’ve been so quiet?” Nick asks, his hips pressed against him deeply seated, “what do you need?”

Gatsby pushes back against him, panting through his answer, “please, please I need to come.”

Nick reaches between his legs, but his mind might have changed when he drags his fingertips featherly against his skin, and he places his hand back onto his hip. He returns back to fucking him, ensuring his hands were atop of the desk, and that with each hit of his prostate, raptured a whine. 

His body tenses when he finally comes, his moans strangled, holding back from what he just bared to Nick. When he finally relaxes, and moved his arms to prop himself up, Nick pins him back down, with a heavy hand on his neck.

“I’m not done, Jay. Not with you.”

Nick nudges at his hip, and Gatsby rolls over onto his back. He’s a starring mess, completely enraptured in an elixir of Nick above him. His legs remain obediently splayed out for Nick, inviting him back in with ease. Nick pushes back into him, taking his time preciously. He leans down, kissing Gatsby’s neck, then the line of his jaw.

He’s wordless as he looks down at Gatsby’s wet eyes and florid cheeks. He takes nearly everything from him, seizing the back of his thigh when he gives back into the selfish, hard pace. Gatsby wasn’t going to come again, but he still trembled and moaned, holding Nick close, one hand over his shoulder and the other at his neck. He’s incoherent, mumbling over and over the word that started it all, and would snap his edge.

“Inside,” Gatsby tells him breathlessly with their foreheads together. He feels the overwhelming tension and digs a heel into his back, “come inside me, daddy.”

With a final thrust, Nick moans and joins the hazy surroundings of their mess. He leans to kiss him, careful in pulling out as he keeps a hand on Gatsby’s shaking thigh. Gatsby stays splayed in the moment of feeling the come seep out, and drip to the floor.

“Fuck,” Nick exhaled, his thumb caressing the skin at his hip.

Needlessly, but to pull all of his strings Gatsby licks his lips, “do you like it, daddy?” he murmurs not to dare raise his voice above the hushed tone, and gasps at the stroke of Nick’s thumb, pushing what’s left of his come back into him.

“Jay,” Nick just chuckles, dumb with the love he’s overwhelmed with endlessly. He kisses him and feels Gatsby smile against his lips.

“Yes daddy?” he matches his gaze.

“Turn around,” he says, before sinking down to his knees.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! When writing such entertaining characters like these three a writer can fall into stupor towards uncharacteristic qualities so I apologize for any, but I said what I said. Gatsby is a bottom and has a daddy kink. I'd like to say shoutout to the post that said the 20s established "daddy" for boyfriend, and all the Lana Del Rey songs I listened to while writing this. It doesn't decrease my time of repentance but yeehaw!! Comments are always appreciated <3 Thanks again :^)!


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